


Out of a Slew of Beginnings Lets Make This One Count

by eragon19



Category: Patrick Melrose (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Happy Ending, I promise, M/M, Pining, Relapsing, Sex, Therapy, getting better, lots of phone calls, sex under the influence, together, trying to get clean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 14:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15293088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/pseuds/eragon19
Summary: Patrick and Johnny have always been each other's constants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing this pairing. I hope you enjoy it!

“I need to see you.”

Patrick’s voice was tinny through the phone, but Johnny could still hear the desperation. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and rolled onto his back.

“It’s four in the morning, Patrick.”

“Please.”

John sighed again and yawned wide, blinking hard to wake up.

“Are you out again?” Johnny asked, his stomach twisting as he waited for the answer. 

He still had to ask. For this ‘relationship’ to work, things had to be clear. They never achieved clarity though, him and Patrick, things were always murky with them. 

Patrick was still silent on the other end of the line. Ah, that was it; a tiny bit of the clarity he wanted. 

“Come over then,” he said, swinging his legs out of bed, and fogging everything up once again.

***

By the time Patrick buzzed Johnny had brushed his teeth, put on fresh pants and was back in bed, staring blurrily at the television.

He forced himself to walk slowly to the door, trampling down the spark of anticipation swirling in his gut. 

Patrick was leaning against the doorframe when he opened the door. He smiled lazily at Johnny and pushed to standing.

“Hey sexy,” he drawled, brushing by Johnny and heading straight for his bedroom. 

Johnny rolled his eyes and shut the door, twisting the lock and following after. 

Patrick was already out of his coat, shirt and shoes by the time he got there. His eyes rolled slowly over Johnny’s body, taking his time. Johnny did the same, trying hard not to wince at the jut of Partick’s ribs and how down right ghostly he looked in the light of the telly. 

“God, today was shit,” Patrick said, dropping his head back and sighing.

Johnny smiled as he crawled into bed. That was the good thing about Patrick, he knew how to fill silences. Not being talkative himself, it was refreshing for Johnny when Patrick came over. Reaching into the side table drawer, he fished around to get what Patrick came for and let his meaningless chatter wash over him.

…and then he told me my father died today.”

Johnny’s hand froze around the baggie. He twisted to look over his shoulder at the pale form on the bed beside him. Patrick’s back was to him, the telly throwing colourful patterns over his skin. 

“What?” Johnny asked, his palms starting to sweat around the baggie. 

“My father...is dead,” Patrick said, as if he were testing to see how the words felt in his mouth.

“God, Patrick, I’m sorry,” Johnny said, rolling over to face him. 

He struggled to remember if Patrick had ever talked about his father. They tended to talk about day to day life when they met, not swap family histories. 

“Thanks.” Patrick twisted around to face him, “Listen do you have anything because I-

“Yeah, here,” Johnny said, waving the little bag at him. “Grab that plate.”

Patrick grabbed the plate, still smeared with the left overs of Johnny dinner, off the cluttered nightstand and set it on the between them. Johnny could feel Patrick’s eyes boring into his hands as he shook the cocaine onto the plate. Folding the bag twice over to a sharpish point, he dragged four crooked lines through the powder. When he looked up, Patrick was fishing two notes out off his wallet. Wordlessly, they rolled them up and took turns snorting up the white powder. 

Johnny’s nose burned and he swallowed hard, trying to wash away the chalky taste that coated the back of his throat. When he looked up, Patrick’s eyes were wide and fixed on him. Johnny squinted at him, the high couldn’t possibly have hit yet, so it couldn’t explain the look on Patrick’s face. Before he could ask, Patrick’s hands were hard on his face and he was being kissed.

Johnny scrambled onto his knees and hauled Patrick closer, opening his mouth against the messy kiss. Patrick’s nails dug hard into his shoulders, scratching lines down his back. Johnny moaned and wrapped his arms tightly around Patrick’s waist, pulling him close and pressing their cocks together.

He just had time to notice Patrick wasn’t hard at all before the man ripped out of his hold, his breath ragged. 

“Patrick?”

“Sorry-sorry. I-

He looked up at Johnny, his pupils huge and his eyes wet. 

“Hey Patrick, it’s ok,” Johnny said quietly, slowly reaching out. 

His could feel his own mind starting to blur, everything seeming to get softer around the edges and sharper in the middle.

“Come’ere Patrick. It’s alright.”

Patrick flinched at his words and curled tighter into himself. 

“Be right back,” he said, staggering off the bed.

Johnny sighed and flopped onto his stomach, listening to Patrick crash around in his kitchenette. His skin buzzed and he smiled at the telly as he waited for Patrick to reappear. 

“Better?” he drawled, as Patrick crawled into bed, a bottle of bourbon in his hand.

It was much emptier than Johnny remembered. 

Patrick simply hummed in response, and gave him a wide smile. Johnny felt his own lips stretch in return. Still grinning, Patrick tilted the bottle over Johnny’s back. Johnny shivered as the alcohol spilled down his spine and sides. Patrick’s tongue followed after, licking up the liquid and dragging slowly along the dip of his spine.

“Feel nice?” Patrick’s voice was a low rumble that jostled along Johnny’s nerves. 

He hummed in response, wiggling against the sheets. Patrick swung a leg over him and straddled his hips.  His fingers dug hard into Johnny’s shoulders, holding him still as he ground against the cleft of his arse. Johnny sighed and let Patrick’s thrusts press his cock into the mattress. His brain buzzed and he could feel every thread on the sheets below him. He wished he’d taken off his pants before, but no matter. On Patrick’s upward roll, his stuck a hand down his pants and started jerking himself off. 

“That’s it,” Patrick murmured, his hands tightening on Johnny’s shoulders. 

Johnny grunted under him, as Patrick moved faster and faster, his grunts coming quicker and quicker. With a sharp, almost sob of a cry, Patrick came against him, wetting the back of his pants. Patrick rolled off of him, breathing hard. Johnny sucked in a hard breath, fixed his eyes on Patrick’s juddering stomach, and stroked himself to a quick finish. 

As always with coke, the orgasm was odd… his hand against his cock was bliss, but the feeling rushing through him, the chemical dump on his brain, was almost too much. He sighed and slumped forward, cringing at the squish off his come between his belly and the sheet.

Patrick was chuckling next to him. Johnny peeked at him with one eye, the rest of his face mashed into the bed. Patrick was sprawled on his back, his hands folded over his belly.

“You’re lovely,” Patrick said, running a hand through his hair.

At least the coke had lightened him up. Johnny on the other hand, felt nausea stir in his gut. It had been getting worse and worse with each snort. Maybe the drugs were finally eating through his stomach. 

“I’m sick of it,” he heard himself say. “The gripe, the shitty flat, the  _ smell _ .”

Patrick looked at him a moment, before laughing again. “So am I, Johnny. So am I.”

 

***

“Don’t buy anything off the street,” Johnny heard himself say, cringing at his own stupid advice. 

As if Patrick would listen to him anyway. As if to underscore this thought, the man simply hummed in reply. They sat stiffly next to each other on the uncomfortable airport bench, not looking at each other. Patrick’s foot jiggled up and down making the whole bench rock slightly. He was always fidgety when he wanted a fix. Johnny licked his lips and banished the thought from his head. His own stomach felt hollow in way food couldn’t fill. 

“Two days then?” he said, to kill the silence.

“Two days,” Patrick said, rising to his feet in with a groan.

Johnny knew there was a joke he could make somewhere in that, but it wouldn’t come. Everything felt just out of reach these days. His therapist said it was normal to feel that way when getting clean, but Johnny lived in constant terror that he’d lost his wit forever. 

He sighed and got to his feet, “See you then.”

Patrick hummed again and gave him a sudo-hug. The kind they always gave each other when they were in public. Not that they did much hugging in private, but then again, it was difficult to hug when you had a cock up the arse. 

“Take care,” Patrick said. His voice was smooth the way it always was when he skirting emotional overload. 

Johnny gave him one last smile and they turned away from each other simultaneously. Patrick heading off to America, and Johnny heading to his therapy session.

***

“It’s normal for people to think the drugs make you smarter or funnier. But that’s not the case. The drugs simply release your inhibitions, but it’s all still in there. Even sober.”

Johnny nodded. He wasn’t in the mood for therapy today, not that he ever was, but he usually made an effort. 

“Did something happen to trigger this line of thinking?” she asked, leaning back in her chair.

Johnny nodded again and swallowed. He didn’t pay seventy pounds an hour to simply stare at his doctor.

“I saw a friend off at the airport today. He still uses,” he flicked his gaze up at the doctor, but she simply nodded for him to continue. He decided to leave out his little slip from yesterday. He could talk about that at the meeting later. “And when I’m with him, I tend to compare us, and he always seems to come out on top.”

He sighed and dropped his head back against the chair, closing his eyes for the next part. 

“I know he isn’t happy, and I know the drugs fuck him three ways to Sunday. I  _ know  _ that, but still, everytime we meet, I keep thinking about how much fun he’s probably having with our friends. Though I suppose they’re just his friends now. And I wish I could have that again. I wish I could have fun again.”

His therapist was silent, not shocked silence, just simply digesting what he’d said. It was something he appreciated that about her.

“You told me you’ve had to cut most of your friends out of your life, why keep Patrick around?”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. She smiled knowingly at him.

“We’ve talked about these feelings of missing out before. You know that’ll happen until you make a life for yourself that’s not based around the drugs, which will happen. I know  _ you  _ know that. What I’m curious about is why you’ve decided to keep Patrick around. What makes him different from the others?”

Well fuck if he knew.

“I don’t know,” he said after a beat, crossing his arms. The question made him tense up, though he had no idea why.

“Try,” she said, in the way that meant she had no problem staying in a stalemate until he talked. 

“He’s- well he’s been around a long time,” Johnny blew out a breath, “but not the longest. He didn’t get me into the drugs.” He wanted that point to be crystal clear. “I guess, he’s different. I feel like he needs me. Not that he’s ever said anything like that. I just feel like separating from him would be akin to abandonment.”

“And it didn’t like this with any of the others?”

Johnny shook his head. He’d had to cut so many people out of life when he’d decided to do this. People he’d laughed with, fucked with, or just simply fucked. He missed some of them, but if he was being totally honest with himself he wasn’t sure if he missed them, or the high that coloured every interaction. 

“How does Patrick feel about you getting clean?”

John sighed, he knew she wasn’t going to like his answer. 

“He doesn’t know.”

He wasn’t paying 70 quid an hour to be afraid of someone either. 

His therapist humed, and made a note on her pad. 

“Why haven’t you told him? He’s clearly important to you.”

“I’m not ready yet...I’m not sure how he’ll react.”

Another hum and more writing. Johnny felt the urge to tug at his hair. He clamped his hands together between his thighs instead. 

“Are you afraid he’ll scoff at it?”

And there’s the reason he paid seventy pounds in the first place.

“He tends to scoff at a lot of things,” Johnny said, smiling despite himself. 

To his surprise she smiled back at him. “You know what I’m going to tell you to do, I’m sure. Him not knowing would make it that much easier for you to relapse.”

The tip of his nose started itching almost instantly and Johnny nearly laughed in her face. 

“We only meet in places where I can’t use,” the lie left his mouth smoothly, “coffee shops, parks....

The look she was giving him made his words trail off. 

“I’ll tell him when he gets back.”

And if his words were a huff, so be it, at least he hadn’t realized he’d relapse- no  _ no  _ he hadn’t relapsed, it was just a slip.

“Great. That’s our time for today, but I look forward to hearing about it next week.”

She didn’t notice his mood shift, which made him glad he’d chosen her. Maybe the doctor who cost a hundred would have been more attentive. Johnny gave her his best smile and left the office.

 

***

The phone was ringing when he trudged home that night. He struggled to balance his books, mail and bag in his arms as he unlocked the door, hustling to get in before the phone stopped. 

“Hello,” he said, banging the bag down and dropping his mail.

“Johnny boy!” Patrick crowed.

Johnny released a breath, “Hey Patrick, how are you?”

“High as shit, and you?”

Johnny dug the heel of his hand into his eye, his entire day suddenly seeming to hit him all at once.

“Where’d you get it?” he asked, wondering how hard it would be to track someone down to check on Patrick.

Patrick hummed, “You aren’t going to like the answer,” he sing-songed, laughing when he finished.

“Should I be worried?” 

“You’re always worried, it’s flattering.”

Johnny had no answer to that. 

“How was your class thing?” Patrick continued.

“It was fine. Tell me, any side effects? Well apart from the usual.”

“My eye is fucked. I look like a bloody pirate. That was after Chilly-Willy though. He gave me a fucking horse syringe, it was gastly.” 

Johnny sighed, wondering where to even begin deconstructing what Patrick said. 

“Take anything for the eye?”

“Of course not.”

“ _ Patrick. _ ”

“ _ Johnny _ ,” Patrick laughed, imitating his tone.

Silence as Johnny waited him out. Patrick was always one to elaborate, especially when he was high.

“It’s a bit better already. I think. So tell me about your class. Can you read minds yet?”

Johnny let out a chuckle at that, though it did nothing to ease the worry. 

“It’s okay, bit dull to be perfectly honest but enough of that. Tell me who, or what, is a Chilly-Willy.”

Patrick laughed again,“I don’t want to talk about him and his fucking horse syringe.”

Ah so a dealer then. The insides of Johnny’s elbows began to itch.

“I’ve been invited to party,” Patrick continued, “and the possibility of a lay.”

Johnny felt the bottom drop out off his stomach, which he hadn’t been expecting at all. So what if Patrick had sex? It shouldn’t bother him, and yet…

“Don’t worry,” Patrick continued, making Johnny realize he’d been silent to long, “She’s from a perfectly respectable family. No risk at all.”

“Of course. Well have fun.”

“Going so soon?”

“Yeah, I-um- I have to meet some friends from class for a drink.”

This was a lie, he couldn’t drink, but there was a club a little way away where could indulge himself in other things.

“Ah well enjoy your  _ drink _ ,” Patrick said with a chuckle.

“Ah- no it’s not like that. It’s really just a drink.”

“Of course it is,” the sarcasm was thick in patrick’s voice.

Well, now was good a time as any. It was cowardly to do it over the phone, especially when Patrick was high, but it was better than having it weighing him down. That probably made him selfish. 

“Patrick?”

“Yeessss.”

Johnny took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders, “I’m getting clean, well I am clean. Have been for three weeks now.”

He swallowed as the silence stretched. Then Patrick began to laugh. His laughter was brittle and laced with a cruel edge.

Johnny was silent waiting it out, he knew anything he said wouldn’t register anyway. Besides, what could he say? If Patrick didn’t believe him, he didn’t believe him.

Patrick’s laughter died out into an uncertain silence.

“Oh God you’re serious,” he finally said.

“Yeah. I am.”

“Well then.”

Another silence made Johnny want to scream. When he finally spoke he ended up speaking over Patrick.

“Patrick I-

“Johnny listen-

“Gotta go?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah. Take care Patrick.”

“Take care.”

Johnny hung up and sighed in relief. Kicking off his shoes he headed toward the bathroom, he need a distraction, but not a high and he knew just where to go to get it.

***

Johnny woke up with a groan. It took him a minute to figure out what woke him up. It was the phone. He sighed then jumped a little as last night’s conquest rolled over and grumbled in his sleep. He smiled to himself as he slid of bed and shuffled to the phone. His arse was aching pleasantly and he could actually remember last night. Also the man he’d brought home was because he liked him, not because he wanted a hit, or was trading for a hit. 

“Hello.”

“Still clean?” Patrick’s morose voice can down the line.

Johnny actually laughed at that. “Yep, still clean,” he leaned against the table, “I didn’t even drink.”

Patrick merely hummed.

“So how was your party?”

“Shit.”

Johnny must have been a masochist as his next question was; “And the girl?”

“Struck out there too. She thinks I’m too arrogant, can you believe it?’

“How  _ dare  _ she?” Johnny said, laying on the sarcasm, hoping to make Patrick laugh.

He was successful as Patrick’s deep chuckle filled his ear. 

They were silent for a while, and Johnny could practically hear Patrick thinking.

“So are you seriously quitting the drugs?”

“Yeah, yeah I am. I’m sick of it and it’s fucking everything up.”

“Aren’t we all fucked up? I think I am whether I’m high or not.”

“No you’re not. Besides, how long has it been since you’ve been lucid anyway.”

Patrick laughed sadly, making Johnny regret what he’d said.

“Listen-Patrick I-

“Johnny?” Darren’s voice came from behind him.

“Who’s that? Isn’t it 2am there?”

“Yeah it’s a...friend from last night,” he turned around and gave Darren a smile. The man smiled back and headed into the kitchen.

“Ah I see,” Patrick sounded even sadder.

“Listen Patrick-

“I have to go Johnny. I’ll see you when I’m back.”

The line went dead, leaving Johnny to blink at the phone.

***

Darren was ...nice. A bland word, but it  was the only word that came to mind. Bland, just like Darren, if he was being totally honest. Johnny sighed and looked at his watch, he was waiting for Darren to meet him for coffee, and he was going to try and make this work. He had just known the man for one night after all. 

Staying in the same vein of being honest with himself, the reason Darren looked so dull was Patrick. The man was on his mind more than usual these days and he found himself looking forward to seeing him when he got back. Not he’d be able to see him as much, now that he thought about it. If the man was still using, Johnny would need to be careful, lest he fall down that rabbit hole again. 

He sighed and checked his watch again. Darren was officially twenty minutes late. His knee started to bob up and down and his mind started to rebel against the stagnation. The way it always did when he had nothing to occupy it. Free time was a dangerous thing to an addict. 

He read the menu nailed to the wall for the hundredth time and tried to let the noise and bustle distract him. It didn’t work, instead it made him want to claw his ears out, or find something to make the noise stop. Grinding his teeth, he finally gave up and headed out. He’d have to take a cab back to resist the temptation to go looking for something. Sod this, and sod darren for putting him through it. 

He was stalking down the pavement when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He whipped around, fully intending to punch whoever it was in the face. It was Darren.

“Johnny! I’m so glad I caught you. Sorry I was late, there was-

“Fuck off,” Johnny hissed, wrenching his arm free and striding off. 

He ignored whatever Darren shouted behind him and threw his hand up for a cab. He was going to go home and he was not going to think about the ten different places he could buy what he wanted on the way there. 

Later that evening he was curled up on the couch, blankly staring at the telly and wondering why he’d shouted at Darren when his phone rang, making him jump. He yawned, stretched and trudged to the phone. Before he’d even said hello, Patrick’s frantic voice was shouting his name.

“Johnny! Johnny it’s me,”

“Patrick! Patrick how are you?”

Patrick seemed to calm at hearing his voice. His sigh crackled down the line. “I’m fine. I- um-tried to kill myself last night.”

Johnny felt bile crawl up the back of throat and he struggled to keep his voice steady. “My God are you alright? Where are you?”

“The bottom,” Patrick said with a dry laugh. 

“Christ are you alright?” God, that was a fucking stupid thing to ask, “Tell me when you land and I’ll come meet you?”

“Listen,” Patrick ignored him, sounding desperate, “I haven’t got long. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Listen,” Patrick said again. He was stumbling over his words, sounding almost on the verge of tears. “I wanna take control of my life. I want to get clean.”

Johnny’s grip tightened on the phone, the plastic creaking. It seemed surreal that this should happen right as he was dreading the possibility of cutting Patrick out of his life.

“Hello? Johnny can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can and that’s wonderful, but-but Patrick are you sure this time?”

It may have been cruel to ask, but he didn’t think Patrick would survive another relapse. Neither would he.

“Of course!” Patrick said, with a weak attempt at his usual jovility. “People always make such a fuss about these things.”

Johnny rolled his eyes and sighed. They made a fuss for a reason, but he wasn’t about to tell Patrick that.

“What are you going to do instead?”

It was a shit stupid question, but he couldn’t imagine Patrick without the drugs. He knew there was a man under there, but he’d gotten so lost among the cocaine and the high, the two had almost become a unit. Johnny himself had been the same way, he probably still would be if you took away the therapy, psychology classes and stupid hobbies he used to fill the time. 

Patrick was silent. Johnny licked lips and tried to soften his tone.

“Patrick? What are you going to do instead?”

The silence stretched and Johnny wondered if the man had simply left the payphone hanging off the hook.

“Are you there?”

A sob was his answer. A soft sob followed by a tiny whimper; as if Patrick was smothering his cries. 

“Patrick, hey what’s this?” he said softly, trying to sooth,  “It’s alright.”

More sobbing followed by a wet shakey inhale.

“Patrick I’ll help you, it’ll be ok.”

“Will it?” Patrick sounded so pitfull, it made Johnny’s heartbreak. 

“Yes, yes it will. I did it, and so will you. I’ll meet you when you land don’t worry.”

Patrick let out another shuddering breath. Then another slightly steadier one. Between shaky breaths he managed to give Johnny his flight information. Johnny simply stood there, listening to his breath get slower and slower, occasionally uttering some soothing nonsense to help calm Patrick down. He was interrupted by an automated voice telling them to insert more coins or the call would be disconnected.

“I don’t have any more change,” Partick said, his voice small. 

“It’s alright, I’ll see you in nine hours ok. Try to sleep on the plane.”

“Alright.”

“It’ll be fine Patrick.”

The automated voice interrupted them again.

“Listen Johnny, thank-

The line when dead.

Johnny swore and ripped the phone away from his ear, looking at it as if it had anything to do with what had just happened.

He slowly set it back on the hook and trudged aimlessly  back to the living room. Patrick wanted to get clean. The thought played on a loop in his mind; Patrick wanted to get clean. He was clean and Patrick soon might be the same way. If all went well, they’d be clean...together…

That had never happened before. 

With another sigh, Johnny tipped his head back and scrubbed a hand over his face. They’d both be clean. As the thought sunk in a slow smile spread over his face. Soon he was smiling widely alone in his flat.

It looked like he didn’t need to worry about losing Patrick after all.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two steps forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but I wanted to get this perfect. Thank you Ami for being an amazing beta!

**[timeline edit; instead of nine years between these episodes, it’s three]**

The tires crunched over the gravel as the car headed up the drive. Patrick drummed his fingers nervously on the seat between them as the chauffeur joined the line of cars heading towards the party. Johnny wanted badly to slide his hand over Patrick’s, but they weren’t anywhere near that yet. Mostly because Johnny hadn’t said a word about how he felt. Telekinesis had failed as well. 

He turned to the window so he wouldn’t be caught starting at Patrick’s hands and stared at their destination instead. The house they were approaching was massive, made of stone in the way of all older manor houses. Light shone from every window he could see, and a line of black vehicles crawled slowly toward the huge doors.

“We’ll stop here,” Patrick’s voice had him turning toward the man, who was already halfway out of the car. 

Johnny gave the driver a brief smile and hurried after him. Patrick cut a fine figure in his tuxedo, the black making him look taller and leaner than he was. Three years of being more or less clean had put a fair amount of sorely needed weight on him. It looked made him look strong...and did wonders for his arse. 

Patrick smiled at him as they neared the doors, Johnny trailing behind a little. He was nervous, not about the people, he was accustomed to these sort of parties. It was the drinks and drugs he knew would be there that made him twitch. 

“Excited to meet the illustrious princess?” Patrick said, with a little smirk.

“Fuck no.”

Patrick laughed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. As his grin faded he turned to Johnny again. “Stay close, don’t go too far away. Will you?”

“Of course.” Johnny said, his heart swelling at the words, “That’s why I’m here Patrick.”

Patrick gave him another of those little smiles, the ones that had replaced his usual sarcastic smirk, and the headed toward the doors.

Inside was bright, loud and dazzling. Men in tuxedos and women in long dresses filled the space. Johnny swallowed hard. He was more out of his depth than he thought. Patrick seemed at ease next to him, though the way his eyes followed the trays of drinks told another a story.

“God, I need a smoke,” Patrick mumbled. “Do you think-”

“Patrick Melrose!” A tall red-haired woman cut through the crowd and hugged Patrick tightly.

“Bridget,” Patrick said, kissing the air next to her cheek. 

The woman pulled back, still holding Patrick by the shoulders and gave Johnny a sunny smile. Introductions were made all around and soon Johnny was being told a story of a younger Patrick’s shenanigans. Bridget laughed her way through the story, but the look on Patrick’s face had Johnny thinking it was a very different experience from Patrick’s point of view. 

“So, all ready for the PM?” he heard himself ask clumsily, struggling to change the topic as quickly as possible. 

Bridget’s smile became strained. “I think so, yes. Actually, that reminds me…” Something over Johnny’s shoulder caught her attention. “Would you two excuse me?”

Johnny nodded with a smile while Patrick muttered something under his breath.

“How about a smoke?” Johnny said, rubbing the edge of his thumb along the pack of cigs in his pocket. 

“God yes.”

They were half way across the room when a voice calling Johnny’s name stopped them.

Johnny turned around and froze when he saw Julia heading toward him. He hadn’t seen Julia in months, not since the brief affair that filled the week after she’d gotten her divorce papers. She looked beautiful as always, clad in a slinky black dress with her usual wicked smile on her face.

“Julia, hello,” Johnny said with a smile and a hug. 

“I was hoping I’d see you here.” She turned her smile on Patrick, “Both of you.”

Patrick smiled with a touch of actual warmth. He and Julia’s gazes locked in a way that made Johnny feel vaguely uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet next to them, wondering if he should head out for a smoke alone, when Julia’s attention turned back to him. 

“And how have you been, Johnny?” she said, pinching his lapel between her finger and thumb. 

“Fine, and yourself?” Johnny asked. A glance showed Patrick’s eyes locked onto Julia’s fingers.

“Oh, the usual. Moved out of that shitty flat yet?”  Her eyes followed Johnny’s gaze and her grin turned malicious. “I’m telling you Patrick, the way the bed would creak! The neighbours probably  _ detested  _ us.” 

She laughed and seemed to relish in the discomfort surrounding the three of them.

Johnny wanted to get away from her as fast as possible. Things between him and Patrick were delicate enough without Julia waving their affair in everyone’s faces. 

“Listen we were just-”

A burst of excited chatting from the crowd nearest the door cut Johnny off. 

“Ah, the Princess,” Julia said, sounding bored.

The three of them turned to the door as the crowd parted around Bridget and a tall, dark haired woman. Johnny hurriedly stepped out of the way as she headed in their direction, her head down as she talked to Bridget. Patrick followed him and, luckily, the crowd separated them from Julia. He sighed in relief and Patrick chuckled next to him.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Johnny. We can’t help our creaky beds.”

John scowled at him, making Patrick laugh and bump their shoulders together as they headed for the dining room. 

***

Dinner was...uncomfortable to say the least. Between Bridget’s daughter wandering down, and Princess Margaret turning out to be a bitch, the atmosphere was….strained, to put it mildly. He and Patrick were seated separately so he couldn’t even rely on Patrick’s snide commentary to entertain him.

Finally, the desert was cleared away and entertainment in a tent on the grounds was announced. Patrick begged off for a smoke and Johnny found himself alone in the tent, listening to the band.

The blue strobe lights and loud chatter made him feel he was twenty-five again, in the nightclub he and Patrick used to frequent  where the bartender knew what they wanted and -

He dug his nails hard into his palms as his inner elbows itched. Dragging his tongue along the back of his throat he headed to the bar, hoping something cold and sweet would help. Not that it ever really did.

Glass of juice in hand, he caught sight of Julia on the other side of the tent and swore to himself as she headed over. As fun as she was, her constant cynicism could be tiring after a while. 

“Hello there,” she said, taking a sip of champagne. “Band’s dreadful, isn’t it.”

Johnny smiled, not in the mood to get into it with her. Simply saying you liked a band which she didn’t would turn into a debate with Julia, and he was too tired for that tonight. 

“Have you seen Patrick? He practically ran away from me upstairs.”

Johnny struggled to keep his face straight. “Upstairs?”

She winked at him, “ Yes darling, upstairs. Poor boy ran away white as a sheet.”

Johnny could think of several reasons they’d be upstairs together, none of which helped his mood. He had no reason to be jealous of course. He and Patrick had been casual when they were sleeping together, and they hadn’t even done  _ that  _ in years. 

Then again Patrick did leave, from what Julia said.

She was looking at him as if she wanted Johnny to ask what they were doing. As if he would.

“How’s your daughter?” Johnny asked instead picking the one topic Julia seemed genuinely interested in. 

“Starting kindergarten; I’m a school gate mummy now.” 

“I thought you’d get someone to do that for you.”

“Yes, well…”

“You have, haven’t you?” Johnny said with a sardonic smile.

Julia smirked at him and took a sip of her drink, “I see her at home anyway.” She looked toward the opening of the tent and smiled, “Ah, there’s our boy now.” 

Johnny turned around and saw Patrick walking into the tent, his shoulders stiff. He saw Johnny and smiled, making his way over to them.

“I’ll take my leave then. I’m in no mood to deal with...that.” 

She was gone before Johnny could say a word.

Patrick pinching his sleeve caught his attention. “Can we talk?” he asked, pulling lightly on Johnny’s cuff.

“Of course.”

He followed Patrick out of the tent, the man’s thin fingers never letting go of his sleeve. Inside the manor Patrick lead him quickly up a flight of stairs and down a long corridor lined with doors. For a brief moment Johnny thought Patrick was taking him to a bedroom. The look on Patrick’s face put that idea idea to bed; he looked like he was going to vomit.

Patrick opened a pair of glass doors at the end of the hall and Johnny found himself in a huge gallery that looked over the rear grounds of the house. Patrick’s hands were shaking and he kept running his fingers through his hair, a nervous tick he’d developed since his father died. Johnny walked to the bannister and looked out at the grounds, giving Patrick time to pull himself together. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Patrick started, voice hesitant. 

Johnny nodded and perched on the bannister, giving Patrick what he hoped was a comforting smile.

“When I was- You know my father died. Well, when I was nine and for some years-

“The fireworks are starting, Sirs.”

Johnny cringed and looked over Partick’s shoulder at the waiter who’d interrupted them. Patrick’s jaw clenched, his face clouding over with unfiltered  _ rage _ , and he spun around to face the waiter.

“Do we look like children?” he shouted. “Do we look like we care about the fucking fireworks!”

The waiter’s stoic face didn’t even twitch as Patrick turned his back on him and tugged at his hair. A beat of silence passed before the man left, the click of the gallery door seeming to echo behind him. Patrick was panting hard, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Patrick, easy. It’s ok.” Johnny said, giving his arm a squeeze. Feeling brave he slid a hand over Patrick’s and loosened the hold on his hair. “Go on. You wanted to tell me something?” he said, rubbing his thumb along the edge if Patrick’s fingers.

“Right, yes.” Patrick swallowed hard and pressed his lips together. “When I was nine,” he said quietly, “and for some years afterward.” A deep breath then, and Johnny knew whatever was coming was going to be horrible. Patrick released his breath in a ragged gasp and kept his gaze fixed on their shoes. “My father abused me.”

Johnny felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as his gut told him just what kind of abuse Patrick meant. He started at Patrick for a moment, watching the minute shake of his shoulders and Johnny’s horror was quickly followed by an unbelievable surge of rage. He knew Patrick’s childhood had been difficult, but discovering  _ that  _ had happened to him made Johnny’s fists clench tight. As cliché as the thought was, he wished Patrick’s father was in front of him right now. Swallowing hard, he shoved his anger deep down. This wasn’t about him. Right now his friend needed him. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry Patrick,” he said around a heavy tongue, knowing the words were inadequate but needing to say  _ something.  _

Patrick looked up at him, his eyes blank and lips shaking. Johnny gave his arm a squeeze and then pulled Patrick into a hug. It was gentle with plenty of space between their bodies for the last thing Johnny wanted was Patrick feeling crowded. Patrick froze against him for a moment, before his arms curled around Johnny’s shoulders and he tucked his chin against Johnny’s forehead.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Johnny said again.

Patrick nodded, his chin digging into the top of Johnny’s head. A few moments later Patrick pulled away and sat next to him on the bannister, hunching forward and pressing the heels of his hands hard into his eyes. Johnny tugged out his pack of cigs and lit one, then offered it to Patrick. He took it with a grunt of thanks and took a deep drag. They smoked in silence until Johnny had finished an entire cigarette, while Patrick let his turn to ash between his fingers. As Johnny ground his cig out on the bannister a resounding boom filled the air and colour exploded over the grounds. 

Patrick’s eyes met his and he gave Johnny a tiny smile, the colour painting his face in shades of red and green. Johnny smiled back and nabbed his cigarette before it could burn his fingers and put it out next to his own. 

“I’ve never told anyone before,” Patrick said quietly.

Johnny took Patrick’s hand again and rubbed his thumb over the back, tracing his veins. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Patrick pressed his lips together and nodded. “Think it’s too early to leave?”

“Let's get out of here.”

He lead Patrick to the balcony doors and peeked down the corridor. Seeing it empty he kept hold of Patrick’s hand as they made their way to the stairs. At the corner loud voices drew their attention.

“How could bring her here! Have you lost your mind?”

The response was too low for them to hear.

“Is that Bridget?” Johnny whispered, wincing when the yelling started up again. 

Patrick hummed in reply, biting his lip. Of course he wasn’t in a talkative mood. Look at what he’d just talked about. 

“Come on Patrick,” Johnny said, suddenly wanting to get Patrick away from all these people. 

“I heard her husband’s having an affair,” Patrick said, voice sounding wet.

“Bridget’s?”

“Yep. I guess he decided to invite his mistress tonight.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Patrick hummed again. At that foot of the stairs they dropped their hands at the same time and threaded their way quickly through the crowd. In no time at all they were in the car and heading back to the hotel. Patrick released a deep breath as they pulled away from the house. He slid down in the seat and passed a hand over his eyes, leg bouncing up and down. Throwing a quick glance at the driver, Johnny gave Patrick’s hand a squeeze. As he was about to pull away, Patrick twisted his hand around and locked his fingers around Johnny’s, holding tightly as he stared out the window. 

***

The hotel lobby was blissfully empty when they entered with only a sleepy looking man behind the desk. In the elevator Johnny debated asking Patrick if he wanted company or if that would make Patrick feel coddled. When the elevator door slid open on Patrick’s floor he decided there was only one way to find out.

“Patrick I-” he shoved a hand between the elevators doors as they started to close. “Would you like company?”

Patrick paused in the act of digging in his pocket for his key. His eyes met Johnny’s and he swallowed hard. 

“No, thank you. I’ll be alright.” 

Johnny nodded and let the doors slide shut. He exhaled sharply and tugged his bowtie loose as he made his way to his own room. Kicking off his shoes, he flopped onto the bed and glared at the mini fridge. He stood up agitatedly and took his shirt off. A nice hot shower was what he needed. It would help distract him from the little bottles neatly lined up inside the fridge. 

Or so he hoped.

***

Showered and in bed, sleep eluded him. The telly was on quietly in the background and he was warm, but his mind was swirling with everything that had happened that night. Patrick’s revelation had thrown every flippant and veiled comment he’d made about his father into new and horrifying relief. 

Unable to help himself, his thoughts drifted to what Patrick would have been like at that age. He’d never seen a picture of a younger Patrick- the man didn’t have a single photograph album in his flat- and to be honest he couldn’t imagine Patrick as a boy. Sure, he could picture what a younger Patrick might have looked like, long and gangly, but he couldn’t imagine what sort of personality he’d had. The cynicism, the way he hid what he felt, surely those weren’t traits he’d had as a child. Johnny wasn’t like that when he was younger. Then again, he didn’t have a monster for a father. 

Rolling onto his back, he dragged a hand down his face and sighed. None of that mattered. What mattered was that Patrick had been hurt when he was younger and had confided in him. What mattered was that he needed to be there for his friend during a time he was likely to relapse (while avoiding relapse himself). 

The knock on the door made him jump. Knowing who it was, he didn’t bother throwing on a robe before opening it. Patrick stood there, face blank and his hair soaked and dripping on the collar of his rumpled pajamas.

Johnny nodded him through the door. “Changed your mind then?” he said with a smile. 

Partick twisted his lips and flopped onto the side of Johnny’s bed, giving the mini fridge a glare. Johny trotted into the bathroom, grabbed his towel and offered it to Patrick. He grinned as the man scrubbed his hair dry, making stick up in little spikes all over his head. 

“That’s a good look. You should consider keeping it,” he said, ruffling Patrick’s hair so it stuck up even more. 

Patrick smiled. “Not sure I have enough hair for it. I’d look more porcupine than punk.”

Johnny smiled and let his hand cradle the back of Partick’s neck for a moment, just to let the man know he was there. Patrick leaned into his palm, his eyes softening as he looked at Johnny. The moment stretched, their gazes locked and breaths slowly falling in sync in the silence of the room. Johnny held perfectly still. The three years of being “just friends” instead of “just friends who fuck,” and Patrick’s confession had him wanting Patrick to make the first the move. 

“So what are you watching?” Patrick asked, clearing his throat. 

Johnny blinked and pulled back, “Oh, um, I’m not actually sure. I just had it on to fall asleep.”

“Well then, don’t let me stop you,” Patrick said, stretching out on the bed and patting the space next to him as if Johnny was in his room instead of vice versa. 

Johnny rolled his eyes and slid into bed next to Patrick, pulling the covers over his shoulders and rolling to face him. Patrick sat on top of the blanket, propped against the headboard, ankles crossed. He reached for the clicker and began channel surfing. Johnny was at a bit of loss. Should he say something? Or just go to sleep?

Going with his gut, he reached out and lightly patted Patrick’s arm, “Good night, Patrick.”

“Night, Johnny.”

Taking one last look at Patrick's profile, beautifully illuminated in the dim light of the room, he shut his eyes and tried to sleep.

***

Grey light was leaking around the curtains when Johnny’s eyes opened. A squint at the bedside table clock told him it was six in the morning, which was far too early to be awake in his opinion. Check out wasn’t until twelve and he had every intention of a long lie in then perhaps a dip in the pool. Yawning, he leaned against the warm body behind him and settled down to sleep.

Patrick.

Smiling, he stroked a hand down the arm around his waist. Patrick’s nose just brushed the nape of his neck and his hips cupped Johnny’s arse deliciously. Johnny fell into a light doze, enjoying the warmth and listening to the soft sound of Patrick’s breathing mixing with the distant noises of the hotel around them. 

Patrick’s squirming woke up him an innumerable amount of time later. The man grumbled, stretched his arms, and shoved one hand under Johnny’s pajama top without any preamble. 

“Warm,” he mumbled, shifting around and yawning. 

Johnny hummed in agreement, smiling when Patrick pressed his face in the hollow between Johnny’s shoulder blades. A long hand curled around his hip and tugged. Johnny’s smile grew as he followed the motion and rolled over to face Patrick.

“Morning,” Patrick said around a huge yawn, hitting Johnny with a wave of warm breath. 

Patrick laughed at his disgusted face, then slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom.  Johnny rolled his eyes at Patrick’s back. Stretching, he leaned across the crumpled sheets for the room service menu. The bathroom door was directly opposite the bed, giving Johnny an unobstructed view of Patrick taking a leak as he ordered. Patrick was never one to shut doors, even when he and Johnny had first met. 

Ten minutes later food was ordered and Patrick had stolen some of his mouth wash and was now sitting minty fresh and restless next him. To get away from Patrick’s twitchy channel switching, he took his own turn in the bathroom, then flopped down onto the ugly arm chair in the corner to wait for the food. 

Things were normal between them despite yesterday’s confession . Johnny wasn’t surprised; it wasn’t like what he’d learned would change their interactions in any way. Patrick however, was excellent at hiding how he felt. Johnny would have to stay close over the next few days, in case he relapsed. Lucky for him, staying close to Patrick was anything but a hardship. 

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he bounced up to collect the food, taking the tray himself so the waiter wouldn’t see Patrick in bed. 

“I got enough for two,” he said unnecessarily as he set the tray between them. 

“Thank you,” Patrick said, dumping his piece of toast onto Johnny’s plate as Johnny stole his jam.

“You’re checking out today?”

“Yep, the sooner I get back to London the better. Vile place, the country.”

“Indeed.”

The ate mostly in silence, only breaking it with comments about some local talk show Patrick had put on. Finally, the smeared plates were put back on the tray, Patrick set it outside the door, and they lay side by side once again.

“Fancy a swim?” Johnny asked as he planted his feet on the bed and arched his spine trying to get rid of a crick that had settled in his lower back.

When he lay back down Patrick was staring at him.

“If not, then why not come wat-

His words were cut off as Patrick rolled closer and kissed him. Johnny went still for a moment, then he was cupping Patrick’s face in his hands and kissing him back. Patrick pulled him closer, hands digging hard into Johnny’s hips and kissing Johnny as if he was drowning. Johnny soon found himself pinned deliciously under Patrick’s weight, with those gorgeous huge hands tangled in his hair. He gave Patrick’s arse a squeeze and gasped when Patrick nipped his lower lip. 

Those lips mapped their way down Johnny’s throat, yanking his collar aside to suck hard at his collar bone. Johnny arched and bucked up against Patrick, grinding his erection against the man’s hip. 

“That’s it,” Patrick purred, sliding a knee between Johnny’s legs.

Johnny slid his hands under Patrick’s shirt and up his back, stroking the smooth silky skin. They were kissing again, hard and fast, with Patrick propped over him on his elbows. Johnny rocked against the hard thigh between his legs, gasping against Patrick’s lips with every thrust. He let his own hands wander downward, caught Patrick by the hips and rolled them sideways. 

“God, I missed you,” he muttered against Patrick’s neck as he gripped Patrick through the front of his pjs. 

Patrick’s hum turned into a gasp of pleasure as Johnny squeezed him and then slid his hand under the waistband of Patrick’s pants. He was hot and hard under Johnny’s palm. Johnny gave him a long stroke from root to tip that hand Patrick smothering a groan into his pillow. Johnny gave him a breathless smile and swiped his thumb over the head on his next stroke up.

Soon Patrick was rocking into his grip and Johnny’s hand was slick with pre-come. Patrick kissed and kissed him, seeming more focused on Johnny’s lips than he usually was. Not that Johnny was complaining. He cursed as Patrick suddenly grabbed the waist of his pants and yanked them down, baring him to the cool air of the room. He knocked Johnny’s hand out of the way and wiggled his own pants down the rest of the way, then pulled Johnny close, lining them up and grinding their cocks together.

Johnny bit his lip hard to muffle his shout, and Patrick pulled him into another scathing kiss. His other hand wrapped around their cocks and began to stroke frantically. Johnny gasped and tugged the front of Patrick’s shirt tight in his fist, letting the man take over and work him towards the edge. It was rough and frantic and so intense that Johnny felt that familiar pressure building in him quickly. With a surprised grunt he was coming hard onto Patrick’s sleep shirt as the man kissed and kissed him. 

Patrick’s teeth sank into shoulder and then he was returning the favour, coming onto Johnny’s pajama top and shaking hard in his arms. 

They lay twined together, sweaty and panting, their clothes in total disarray. Patrick shifted, making his soft cock drag along the length of Johnny’s and, despite just having come  _ spectacularly,  _ Johnny felt a flash of arousal wash over him. Patrick smiled wickedly, making Johnny glare at him half heartedly. 

With a satisfied sigh, Patrick rolled onto his back and gave a long stretch. “God, I missed that.” He turned to Johnny, “I missed you.”

Johnny smiled at him, “I missed you too.”

“And well-” Patrick paused, pressing his lips together. “Thank you. Not for  _ that,  _ but for- you know.”

Johnny nodded, “Yeah. Of course, Patrick.” He stroked his arm, “Of course.”

Patrick gave him a long look, sliding his thumb along Johnny’s lip in a surprisingly loving gesture. The moment stretched, quiet and still, then Patrick bounced out of bed. 

“So how about that swim then?”

Johnny laughed. “You read my mind!” he said, hopping out of bed and wondering where he’d stashed his swim trunks.   
  



End file.
